Tomorrow I shall set forth upon a journey. Out in the twilight now I see the trains Panting toward the cold country snow-lands With frosty breath and kindled window panes. The house is strange and still, knowing I purpose To lock its doors and hush it with drawn blinds. "Why does he go? Why does he go?" it questions. "What is it in the world outside he finds?" Too little or too much, dear house! For one Who travels away from self or who is bent On hope-begotten adventure often misses The calm efficiency of heart-content. When I come back then from a hundred cities And wash away the travel-stain and tire, I shall not know whether my gains are riches 'Til I assay them 'round a home-lit fire. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DINNER IN A QUICK LUNCH ROOM by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET FINIS by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON LET ME NOT HATE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON DEEP IN THE QUIET WOOD by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON SONG FOR A VIOLA D'AMORE by AMY LOWELL THE EXPANDED COMPOSITION by CLARENCE MAJOR |